


what I like most about winter is you

by 991102



Series: though the seasons will fade, my heart won't change [1]
Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: M/M, like a lot of fluff, lots of fluff, winter fluff, woojin and jihoon being in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 22:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/991102/pseuds/991102
Summary: the biting cold is a huge turn-off, but jihoon supposes the warmth that comes with park woojin makes up for itthank you for 100 kudos!





	what I like most about winter is you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parknpeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parknpeach/gifts).



> happy not december 1st 
> 
> for my love taffy, even though our friendship is a lie and you're a pea hater, I hope you'll a get a taste of what winter is like though this

 

There’s something inexplicably exciting about winter; something about the season that Jihoon loves, anticipates.  

 

He’s not quite sure why or how he’s come to like the season.

 

Maybe it’s the huge, winter coats. 

 

(“You look like you’re about to freeze to death.”

 

“Hypothermia is a possibility. Death, no.” Jihoon bites out, teeth clashing with the force of his shivers. 

 

He’s never been good at dressing for the weather, always forgetting to check the forecast, as can be seen by his lack of outerwear despite the biting cold of late November. His thin jacket does little to protect him from the harsh winds, cold air whipping at his cheeks. 

 

He’s cold, to say the least, but Woojin has the audacity to tease him, tone playful as he eyes Jihoon’s trembling frame, “It’s not that bad.”

 

Jihoon sets Woojin with his most deadly glare, or at least what he can manage in this state, scoffing at his content smile, “Easy for you to say.” Despite himself, Jihoon thinks Woojin looks adorable; his oversized coat falls to his knees, fur lined hood framing his face.

 

Woojin snickers, as if he can read Jihoon’s mind, but he holds back the snarky response Jihoon is sure is on the tip of his tongue, instead unzipping his coat and holding it open, “C’mere.” Woojin’s tone is teasing but his eyes are gentle, welcoming, and Jihoon doesn’t waste any time crashing into his embrace. Jihoon’s sure his hands are near frozen but Woojin doesn’t complain when he sneaks his hands under his sweater, seeking the warmth of skin. 

 

The rumble of laughter that shakes through Woojin’s chest is unmistakable, hot breath fanning onto Jihoon’s neck, “Better?”

 

Jihoon smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to the other’s collarbone, “Better.”)

 

Perhaps it’s the first snow and the layer of excitement that falls onto the city along with the blanket of white.

 

(It snows on their first Thanksgiving together. 

 

They’re driving home from his parents’ house when Jihoon notices the snow; the falling snowflakes mere spots drifting through the glare of headlights. “It’s the first snow.” is what he points out, and Woojin hums, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, lip caught in between his teeth; contemplative, thoughtful. 

 

“It is.” is what Woojin finally mumbles, and there’s a small twinkle in his eyes when he glances at Jihoon; mischievous, determined.

 

Jihoon knows what that look means, so he doesn’t bother to question it when Woojin pulls into the empty parking lot of Costco, nor does he say anything when Woojin gets out of the car; he simply watches with mild interest (and maybe a bit of dread) as Woojin makes his way around and opens his car door, palm extended.

 

_ “Let’s play in the snow.” _

 

Jihoon supposes it’s a bad idea — it’s below freezing and their coats are thin, they’ll definitely catch colds — but the childlike excitement that swirls in Woojin’s eyes overshadows all logic, and Jihoon takes his hand.

 

The snowfall is heavier now and Jihoon is starting to lose feeling in his toes but the sound of Woojin’s tinkling laughter, he decides, is worth the biting cold. He’s laughing too, squealing when Woojin declares war on him, tackling him to the ground mid snowball fight. 

 

He’s still laughing freely, all pink cheeks and wide smiles, when Woojin grabs his hand, “Jihoon, let’s make snow angels!” 

 

Jihoon’s at peace, laying in the snow beside Woojin, arms and legs flailing. And after awhile, once they’ve fallen quiet, limbs coming to a halt, Jihoon lets his head fall to the side, cheek now numb to the cold, and he watches as the falling snow lands in Woojin’s hair. 

 

Woojin lays there with his eyes closed but as if he sensed Jihoon’s stare, his eyelashes flutter open, giving way to a deep, chocolate brown that Jihoon’s come to know as home. 

 

The slow smile that spreads on Woojin’s lips is lazy, but radiant, “Park Jihoon, you are so fucking beautiful.”

 

Jihoon’s captivated, unable to look away, and he thinks that he can make out his own reflection in Woojin’s eyes; he’s surrounded by white, beanie slipping off his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, his nose is red and his lips are cracked but he’s smiling.

 

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

 

He’s happy.)

 

Perhaps it’s the satisfaction that comes with slipping under layers of blankets.

 

(It’s a Wednesday evening, which means hours spent together on the couch and peanut butter crackers and poor analysis of whatever movie they’ve decided to play, and Jihoon’s laying out their pillows while Woojin moves around the kitchen.

 

It’s cold in their apartment, the heater having broken down at the worst time possible, what with the temperature outside consistently falling below freezing; but there’s nothing fuzzy socks and matching sweats and a good cup of hot cocoa can’t fix. 

 

Jihoon’s just dumped a pile of blankets onto their couch when Woojin comes bounding around the corner, two mugs in hand, “One marshmallow or two?” 

 

He pauses, hand coming up to scratch at his neck in thought — he’s been hanging around Seongwoo too much — before he shrugs and launches himself onto the mountain of pillows, “Three.” 

 

Woojin snickers, “You were always the smarter one in this relationship.” and Jihoon doesn’t see but rather hears him walk back into the kitchen, the dull clinking of metal against glass loud in the calm silence.

 

It’s ten minutes later, once Woojin’s shut off the lights and has gotten the movie playing, that Jihoon completely relaxes, mind and body at ease as they lapse into the familiar routine. Jihoon sets down his mug in favor of tangling his fingers with Woojin’s and he drapes himself over the other, cheek resting on his chest. 

 

Woojin’s hand finds purchase on the small of his back, and the warmth of skin on skin chases away the coldness seeping into his bones; Jihoon thinks that even without the blankets, he’d be just fine.

 

“Comfy?”  

 

Jihoon’s sure he’ll get a terrible cramp in his neck by the time the ending credits roll but he’ll be okay; as long as Woojin is beside him, it’ll all be okay.

 

“Yeah.”)

 

Or maybe it’s the holiday lights and the ever-present glow of the city.

 

(It’s a late December evening when Jihoon finally comes to understand why Daehwi had called him a fool for never having taken Woojin to the annual holiday light show. The lights are the most beautiful at night; they shine brighter in the darkness, and most importantly, Woojin seems otherworldly under the night sky.

 

Woojin’s walking ahead of him, more or less hopping in place in excitement, and Jihoon’s chest fills with warmth despite the cold that seeps into his fingertips; he makes a note to take a few photos of Woojin throughout the night so he can show off his cute boyfriend on every social media account he owns.

 

It’s then that Woojin glances over his shoulder, eyes wide with awe and mouth agape, “The lights are beautiful.” From this angle, the lights hit Woojin’s face perfectly, bouncing off his cheekbones, casting reds and blues and yellows over tan skin, and he’s just  _ glowing. _

 

He’s disgustingly in love, he knows, but Jihoon can’t help but think Woojin is far more beautiful than all the lights combined. 

 

“Yeah, they are.”)

 

Perhaps what he’s come to like most is the comfort of warmth on even the coldest nights.

 

(Jihoon had awoken to an empty bed, the warmth on Woojin’s side remaining despite the absence of the other, and Jihoon had thought about staying in bed and catching those last few hours of sleep, but his body moves on its own accord and before he can stop himself, he’s pushing open the balcony door, blanket pulled over his shoulders.

 

And it feels like he’s in some teen romance movie, what with Woojin leaning on the railing in his overworn hoodie, windswept hair falling into his eyes, looking like the classic, heart-fluttering male lead. 

 

Jihoon ignores the sudden pounding of his heart and he slides up next to him, elbows bumping with Woojin’s, “What are you doing out here?” 

 

Woojin hums, seemingly relaxed in the way he moves, shoulders lifting in a small shrug, “Couldn’t sleep.” 

 

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

 

Woojin’s avoiding his eyes, gaze set on the moon, “Easier said than done.” and his tone is teasing, light-hearted, but Jihoon knows him better, knows him well enough to see through the facade of nonchalance. 

  
  


Woojin, bless his heart, has always been one to keep his worries to himself, hesitant to share his burdens, and Jihoon is well aware of that  — he’s come to know it’s not that Woojin doesn’t trust him, Woojin is just, well, being himself — and he knows how to work around it, careful in his approach, never pushing too far, only enough to show he’s there.

 

“I would’ve gotten out of bed for you.”

 

The smile that makes its way onto Woojin’s face is small, a mere quirk of the lips, but it’s genuine, and the tension in Jihoon’s shoulders fades, “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

 

For a while, the whistle of the wind is the only sound between them, and Jihoon allows Woojin to pull him closer, strong arms slipping under his makeshift blanket cape and winding around his waist. 

 

Jihoon sees, rather than feels, when Woojin wants to talk, his long exhale blowing pillows of white into the night air, and Jihoon winds their fingers together, squeezing lightly, encouragingly. 

 

“The nightmares came back.” 

 

Jihoon hums, he had figured that much, but he doesn’t say, only tightening his hold on Woojin’s hand. 

 

“I haven’t had one in so long, it’s been almost a year. I think I was just,” Woojin pauses, “surprised.” 

 

“You know I’m always here for you, right?” Jihoon cups Woojin’s cheeks with his hands, smiling softly when Woojin leans into his touch, “No matter how silly you think it is, I’m here to listen to you, to comfort you, to just _be_ _there_ for you.”

 

“I know.” 

 

There are so many words left unsaid, so many things Woojin hasn’t said, things he will probably never say, but Jihoon knows. 

 

Jihoon understands when Woojin pulls him flush against his chest, when he places a kiss on his forehead, when he smiles in that soft, gentle way that is only reserved for him, when he stares at him with eyes that only hold fondness.

 

Woojin doesn’t need to use words, for Jihoon already understands his heart.

 

_ Thank you.  _

 

_ I love you. _

 

They stay like that for awhile, at ease within the warmth of Jihoon’s blanket, long enough to watch the heavens paint the sky with hues of pink and orange, and the city seems to twinkle, warm sunlight cast over a blanket of ice. Eyes set on the sunrise, the noise of the waking city below them falls on deaf ears, for all Jihoon can hear is the steady pulse of Woojin’s heart.)

 

But above all, maybe it’s the sentiments that come with the season.

 

(It’s three in the morning on a January day when it happens. 

 

They’re on one of their usual irrational, in-the-heat-of-the-moment late night — or is it early morning — food runs, huge puffer coats uncomfortable in the small booth at IHOP, identical stacks of pancakes staring back at them.

 

Jihoon’s working on chewing a particularly big bite when he catches Woojin’s eyes on him, and he blinks in question.  

 

“Park Jihoon.” 

 

He doesn’t know why, but he’s suddenly feeling shy, cheeks coloring pink, his name just sounds so  _ right _ on Woojin’s lips. Jihoon forces the food down, almost choking in the process, before he clears his throat, “Park Woojin.”

 

Save for the employees stuck on the night shift, it’s only him and Woojin in the restaurant and the silence is unnerving. 

 

Call him crazy, but Jihoon could just  _ feel _ it coming, whatever  _ it _ was.

 

Woojin slides out of his side of the booth, standing before him, and when he reaches for his hand, by habit more than anything, Jihoon laces their fingers together. 

 

His gaze is gentle, and all Jihoon can see in the deep chocolate of Woojin’s eyes besides love and affection is himself, and that’s when Jihoon knows: he’s the one.

 

Woojin gets down on one knee. 

 

_ “Will you marry me?” _

 

Held in Woojin’s fingers is a small, wrinkled paper ring made from a straw wrapper.

 

Jihoon’s dressed in day old clothes, hair messy, Woojin has syrup on his chin (and they’re at IHOP for God’s sake) and there’s no lengthy profession of love, no sparkling diamond, no confetti and balloons, no flower bouquet, no choir or flash mob, but it’s enough.

 

It’s enough because it’s him.

 

Woojin, who drew him in like a moth to a flame.

 

Woojin, who’s seen him at his lowest and has never left his side.

 

Woojin, whose smile is like the sun. 

 

Woojin, who taught him what love is.

 

Woojin, who has been his home for the past four years.

 

Park Woojin is the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with, in sickness and in health, through hardships and triumphs, through sorrow and joy, until the end. 

 

Jihoon doesn’t know when the tears started flowing but within a moment, Woojin’s fingers are swiping at his cheeks, kissing away the tears, and Woojin’s laughter rumbles through his entire being when Jihoon throws himself into his arms, all ugly sobs and loud sniffles.

 

“So... is that a yes?”

 

_ “Of course.” _ )

 

Or maybe it’s a mix of everything.

 

Though Jihoon has never been (and will never be) a fan of the cold, he’s come to like winter; he likes the snow and the seasonal drinks and the holiday lights, but perhaps his change of heart has more to do with the everlasting warmth that comes with Park Woojin. 

 

He’s freezing but he thinks his heart is on fire. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [@applewooj](https://twitter.com/applewooj) if you want to or send me stuff on [cc](https://curiouscat.me/applewooj)


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